I'm sorry, dear—

But I did not know

That behind your eyes,

Where the joy-fields grow

And dance to the joy of dancing skies,

There were forests where graver flowers rise;

Weighted with shadow,

They stand tiptoe:

So I'm sorry, dear—

I did not know.

I'm sorry, dear.

As we older grow

There will come a day,

May its feet move slow,

When we, where the life-fields fade to gray

And the skies dance not, shall have naught to say,

Met by a Shadow,

In voices low,

But, "I'm sorry, God—

I did not know."